Beyond Your Control

Sometimes stuff happens

Beyond your control

And trying to deal with it

Sure takes a toll.

You sacrifice time

And emotional stress, 

While the outcome turns out

To be anyone’s guess.

Bureaucracy stops things

From happening fast 

And often you find out

The die has been cast.

It’s still worth the effort

To spearhead a change,

Despite all the details

You must rearrange.

Still, some situations 

You simply can’t fix,

For all your ideas

Someone’s ready to nix.

Buttinskies

In many a group situation,

A gathering, outing or class,

There’ll be someone who thinks she’s the teacher,

But instead is a pain in the ass.

 

For the guide or instructor is ready

With the knowledge she needs to impart,

Which gets hard when there are interruptions

By that pain showing off she’s so smart.

 

Signing up for a group with a leader

Means you’re joining with hopes you can learn

From that person who’s hired to teach you,

Not buttinskies who speak out of turn.

Every Wrinkle

Time can’t erase

All the lines on your face,

Although Botox, I’m told,

Helps you not look so old.

 

A face lift, as well,

Means that others can’t tell

Your true age, with success,

If they’re making a guess.

 

Every wrinkle reflects

How our body elects

To display each ordeal

That we cannot conceal.

 

So there’s no need to hide

What should bring us some pride,

For we’ve come to that age,

Turning many a page.

 

Still, I wouldn’t quite mind

If I woke up to find

That my sheets, wrinkle-free,

Passed that magic to me.

Hurricane

A hurricane is in the news,

A Category 5,

With winds that challenge trees and homes

To manage to survive.

Yet where I am, the sky is blue

And there’s a gentle breeze,

Enough to knock the leaves down,

But not causing much unease.

Jamaicans had some warning 

And, though many have prepared,

I am sure that people living there,

Or visiting, are scared.

It’s hard to wrap your mind around

Disasters far away,

Yet most of us will face our own

Adversity one day.

My Beleafs

With my trusty broom in hand, I swept 

The leaves piled on the deck

And, noticing the gutters,

I decided, what the heck.

So I dragged a kitchen stool and climbed

And reached in with my hands

To grab what leaves and twigs I could

That ownership demands.

It all looks better than it did,

Which makes me satisfied,

Until tomorrow morning, when 

I take a step outside…

And there will be, I’m sure of it,

Just what you might assume,

A brand-new leafy carpet

Out there waiting for my broom.

Assessing a Situation

To assess a situation,

It sure helps if you’re not in it.

If you are, then how you see things

Will be how you want to spin it.

 

Only someone on the outside,

With no stakes in what is shaking,

Will be totally impartial

To the choices in the making.

Crossing Over

We’re at my son’s house for the weekend.

The doorbell rings - who could it be?

The son of the previous owners,

In the neighborhood, hoping to see

And show off to his wife and her mother 

The home he grew up in and missed.

“Could we see the backyard” he inquired.

“Please come in,” said my son. “I insist.”

So we showed them around and he noticed

All the changes, plus things still the same,

While we chatted and somehow they mentioned 

Where they currently live, which became 

Such a strange bit of chance to discover

That the place they reside’s half a mile 

From the home where my son spent his childhood 

And where we live (and have all this while).

Unexpected events sometimes happen

And although this is up for debate,

When a circumstance comes up like this one,

I believe it’s connected to fate.

Retainers

My grandkids got retainers,

Once their braces were removed,

To help straighten out their teeth,

As dental studies must have proved.

Their father once wore braces,

Which goes back a little while,

But there wasn’t a retainer -

Maybe it was not the style.

Yet today he is a lawyer,

So I’m sure he’s had his share 

Of retainers of a different kind,

Which seems to me quite fair.

Not a Dent

When mailing a letter,

A card or a bill,

The upper left envelope

Corner I’ll fill

 

With a label containing

My name and address,

Which I’ve never purchased,

I have to confess.

 

They come in the mail

Sent by charities who

Want donations, so they

Send a present to you -

 

Address labels sent

In a decorative style,

With flowers or cats,

Which I’ll add to my pile.

 

If I live to 100,

I won’t make a dent

In the thousands of labels

That I have been sent.

River Rhymes

The river breeze, by some degrees,

Makes me feel that much colder,

But I can freeze, with knocking knees,

Much quicker since I’m older.

 

Yet when the sun, to have some fun,

Peeks out from where it’s hidden,

My chill is done and there’ll be none

Returning when it’s bidden.

 

For warmth sinks deep and I can keep

The wind from now invading.

No shiver’s creep will somehow seep

Inside; I feel it fading.

Four Amish People

In front of Starbuck’s, on a bench,

Four Amish people sat,

The woman with a bonnet

And each man in a straw hat.

 

It’s not a sight you often see

On a local uptown street,

But in New York, you never know

What people you might meet.

 

That’s why I cherish living here,

For city folk embrace

All types of visitors who come

From every kind of place.

Piggy Banks

I think that if you asked today,

Have piggy banks become passe,

The answer, if I had to guess,

Would be a most resounding Yes!

 

For coins are just no longer used

And kids might even be confused

Or maybe slightly take offense

If teeth were swapped for fifty cents.

 

Yet in my home, four banks still sit,

Each one with varied coins in it,

Plunked one by one into the slot

Which, back in childhood, meant a lot.

 

Today I dumped them out, then stacked

The coins in piles, using tact,

So neither grandkid throws a fit

Because I made an equal split.

 

I chose two banks and loaded in

Half dollar coins that once had been

Their father’s long-forgotten stash,

Now hardly recognized as cash.

Too Windy

It’s way too windy for a hat.

With just one gust, well, that is that,

So though I wore one, once I sat,

I took it off my head.

 

I watch the waves producing foam

As I compose my daily poem,

But it’s too nice to hurry home

So I’ll stay here instead.

 

The sun is warm and strong and bright

Before some rain moves in tonight.

For now, the atmosphere’s all right,

Though hatlessness has spread.

To Splurge

Everybody has the urge,

And, though it may be rare, to splurge,

For sometimes needs and wants converge

And giving in’s rewarding.

 

We’ll treat ourselves to different things,

Depending on the joy it brings,

Despite the fact that certain flings

Are past what we’re affording.

 

Yet it may still be worth our while

To spend on what will make us smile,

Since there are times to live in style,

But not go overboarding.

Old Photos

I threw away the negatives

But couldn’t bear to part

With the photos of such happy times

They’re tugging at my heart.

 

Museum trips and boat rides,

Pulling sleds or on the beach,

Birthday candles glowing on a cake,

Those days all out of reach.

 

A fire in the fireplace,

The family gathered ‘round,

Performances at camp and school,

The beaming faces found.

 

All dressed up for the holidays

Or set for trick or treat,

The younger version of ourselves

We wish that we could meet.

 

I loved the reminiscing

But when tucking them away,

It made me sad that they’ll be tossed

On a not too distant day.

After Vacation

After vacation, it’s time to unwind 

And leave those adventures of travel behind.

You’ll need to unpack because soon you will find

You are back in your normal routines.

Forget all those places you slept or you dined,

The varied excursions your tour guide designed,

Your life now reverts to the regular kind,

Whatever, in your case, that means.

With luck, though, there might just be tucked in your mind, 

Some visions to think of, when you’re so inclined, 

Of your journey, so when you return to the grind, 

It won’t be a mere hill of beans. 

A Top Sheet

Every room in Scotland,

Whether inn or a hotel,

Had a comforter upon the bed

To serve most people well.

 

It was always white and fluffy,

Meant for coziness, I guess,

And at first, when snuggled under it,

I liked it, I confess.

 

But I always woke up feeling

Way too warm and yanked it free.

Then I had no means of cover,

Which just doesn’t work for me.

 

So each night I fought that blanket,

Sometimes off and sometimes on,

Thinking if I’d had a top sheet,

All those problems would be gone.

 

Now I’m sleeping in my own bed,

Comfy underneath the sheet

And if I’m a little warm, I simply

Kick it off my feet.

My Seatmate

Most of the time, on a seat on a plane,

I say nothing to seatmates around me,

For people will sleep or will read or remain

Fully focused on screens that surround me.

 

Yet my neighbor today had been handed a card

For her birthday by one of the crew,

So my usual custom of quiet was jarred

And I wished her a happy day, too.

 

When the beverages came and I pulled from my bag

A croissant from my breakfast this morn

And I offered her half (just plain tea is a drag!),

A relationship somehow was born.

 

She’s the age of my son and her kids’ ages match

Pretty closely my grandkids’ as well.

Our religion’s the same and our politics, natch,

Seem aligned, far as I got to tell.

 

We talked work, we talked home and it turns out she writes –

Even poetry, what are the chances

Of connecting with someone like that? On most flights,

With my seatmates we hardly trade glances.

 

We shared numbers and names and she checked out my rhymes

As the plane travelled hundreds of miles

And no matter if there are additional times,

On this journey we shared lots of smiles.

At Stirling Castle

At Stirling Castle, history,

Imparted by a guide,

Allows us to imagine 

What the artifacts provide.

The weapons and the uniforms,

The chambers and decor,

All displayed in ways to show us

Things we’ve never seen before.

Yet upon some walls are tapestries

Depicting what we know

Of the story of the unicorn 

And how they laid him low.

For most visitors, they’re magic

And, although we were impressed,

They are copies of originals 

And don’t quite pass the test.

In New York, we have the Cloisters

With those tapestries on view

And we’ve seen them many times 

Because that’s what we tend to do.

We may not have ancient castles 

Back at home, but we have art,

Often purchased by the moguls,

Super-rich and super-smart.

The Nordic Mutiny

Fifteen people on a tour

Of Scotland on a bus.

Thirteen strangers, plus the guide

And driver rode with us.

Like a dance, we do-si-doed 

And joined or pulled apart,

While learning ‘bout each other;

Group dynamics got to start.

Our leader was the one in charge,

Deciding times and routes, 

His local knowledge vast and true;

Of that we had no doubts.

But certain discontentments grew

Against our Scottish guide,

Whose rogue decisions made things worse

And couldn’t stem the tide.

Complaints were made; the plug was pulled,

The mutiny complete,

Our trusty driver leading now

From in the driver’s seat.

The group was jelled - well, more or less,

And all are much less stressed

Since our bounty of discomfort

Laid the awkwardness to rest.

A Broad Abroad

I’m a broad who’s abroad

And I’m traveling toward 

Where my tour will be moored

For the night.

Every view has me floored

And what can’t be ignored 

Is that what I’ve adored,

Each new sight,

In my brain will be stored 

So that when I am bored 

I’ll recall what I’ve scored

With delight.

Frosted Skye

I’d started losing hope that I

Would ever see the Isle of Skye,

But here I am with views of sheep 

And mountains; rules do not apply.

The majesty will surely keep,

For this has conjured feelings deep

Of wonder that the world does hold 

So many treasures we can reap.

If every person could be polled,

I’d bet that most would not be sold

On travel as a way to heal

Whatever problems leave you cold.

The vistas here have such appeal

I’m thrilled I had the time to steal

To let me just unwind and feel 

To let me just unwind and feel.

John Lennon’s Birthday

Today’s John Lennon’s birthday,

Which I knew from teenage days,

When I was part of what became

That magic Beatles craze.

Just yesterday, in Inverness,

I walked by a cafe

Where a sign announced the “Silver Beetles”

Played there in the day.

The year was 1960,

Their first ever on a tour,

But performing a “support act”

And their set list tells us more.

There were 7 songs in total,

Buddy Holly, Elvis, too,

Though no Lennon and McCartneys -

If their young selves only knew!

Now it’s 65 years later,

With my teenage years long gone,

As are John and George, but Paul and Ringo

Live to carry on.

Talking Face to Face

Part of travel’s seeing things

You’ve never seen before.

The world awaits; you only need

To open up the door.

Yet sometimes true connections 

Unexpectedly take place

When a chance presents for people

To start talking, face to face.

They may be polar opposites

In how and where they live,

But in conversations all involved

Have so much they can give.

It’s a special opportunity

To have this little taste

Of another way of being 

Which to miss would be a waste.

A’Graze

Oh, drive me please where I can gaze

Upon the fields of sheep a’graze

Or taking time to dream and laze

On blankets green and grassy.

So far from New York’s jam-packed roads

With cars and semis schlepping loads,

Ignoring all the traffic codes,

The drivers bold and brassy.

A bold reminder are the sheep

That every baa instead of beep

Allows your soul the chance to keep 

Its outlook soft and sassy.

Roofs

I rarely think of roofs at home,

But when I am abroad,

I notice many little things 

That strike a different chord.

The hotel window gives a view

Of houses ‘cross the street

With many chimneys sticking up

Like soldiers on their feet.

They might have other uses

And I don’t care what they are.

For me, they’re a reminder

That I’ve traveled someplace far.

It’s a privilege to explore

The unfamiliar while you can,

Since you never know when circumstance

May have another plan.

The Red Eye

Flew overnight with

An hour of sleep.

Couldn’t slow down with

Appointments to keep.

Found the hotel and

The castle to tour.

Listened until

We could do it no more.

Flying the red eye

Makes sense, but to me,

When I land I’m as tired

As tired can be.

Off We Will Go

We’re taking a trip.

I’m nervous, but packed.

Anxiety worsens

With age; that’s a fact.

 

Yet off we will go;

We’ll give it a shot

And might have the time

Of our lives, or might not.

 

At least it’s a change

From our daily routine,

With a visit to places

That we’ve never seen.

 

We’ve worried and planned

But, like reading this poem,

In a flash, it will seem,

We’ll be flying back home.

Circles

A baby’s immediate circle

Of mommy and daddy expands 

As he grows and his parents entrust him

To others’ responsible hands.

Then in playgroups or daycare or classes,

His once tight little circle makes space

For his earliest friends and instructors,

Each displaying a welcoming face.

Years will fly and the circles get bigger,

Overlapping as interests are found,

With the first circle members ensuring

That he’ll keep his two feet on the ground.

School years somehow morph into adulthood,

With new circles of jobs and romance,

Which invite both new colleagues and lovers

To come join in the circles and dance.

Soon new families form and more circles

Beckon other new parents as friends 

And what happens to earlier circles

Is that sometimes, the overlap ends.

Circumstances may sever a segment,

Such as change of location or views,

Which may cause a once-widening circle

To shed members they’d just as soon lose.

Time will march and will bring with it aging,

With its own set of issues and rules 

And the circles will shrink and will tighten,

Some denying and acting like fools.

At the end, just the tiniest circle,

Like the newborn’s, will likely remain

And those lucky enough get to share it

With no need to bemoan or explain.

Services on Zoom

Today is a holiday;

You might assume

That I’d be in a temple,

Not watching on Zoom.

 

But my son sent a link

So I see and I hear

All the rituals practiced

This time every year.

 

A bonus today

Is I have a great view

Of my grandson, whose aisle seat

Is something new.

 

The rest of the family

Is there, not as clear,

But I’ll see them all later

When break fast is here.

 

We’ll then sit together

In person and eat,

Which will certainly be,

After fasting, a treat.

Jackets

My red leather jacket

I’ve given away.

It wasn’t my fave

Though it fit me okay.

 

It’s hung in the closet

Unworn now for years

And a new owner likes it,

Or so it appears.

 

It makes me feel good

To hear someone enthuse

About something I’ve owned

But I no longer use.

 

Yet I still can’t give up

My suede jacket with fringe.

Its shoulder pads date it

Much more than a tinge.

 

I won’t wear it, but still

It transports me, and how!

To a time in my life

So much different from now.